Trial and Error Part Two: Fatherhood
by ChildOfTheBarricade
Summary: Part 2 in the Trial and Error: The Adventures of Hamish Watson Holmes series.
1. Playdates

"Quickly please, Hamish," Sherlock said impatiently, standing in the doorway to the nursery, holding Hamish's little backpack and tapping his foot.

"I coming, I coming," Hamish said, dashing over to him with a painting. "I made it for you, Daddy! It is you and Uncle Mycroft!"

"That is a lovely painting. Where are your shoes?"

Hamish ignored him and pulled a business card out of his pocket. "I haves a card for you too," he said, passing it up. "From Angus's Mummy," he said.

Sherlock looked down at the card:

 _Rhiannon Macarthy- Mum of Max, Sophie, and Angus._

He turned it over and read the written note on the back.

 _Sherlock, Angus would love to have your Hamish over for a playdate this weekend. Send us an email if you're free at odonnells643 , or give me a call. Thank you -Rhi_

"She sayed she called your phone lotsa times, Daddy but you not answering."

"I was ignoring it," he sighed, sitting Hamish on the ground and shoving his little shoes onto his feet.

"Oh. What it is about?"

"Angus would like to have you over to his house to play," he said quietly, stuffing the card in his pocket and grabbing his hand. Hamish grinned and jumped up and down as they walked out onto the street.

"Yay! Daddy, what Angus's house looks like?"

"I don't know," he sighed, helping him cross the road. "Please look both ways, Hamish, you can't just step out, you'll be hit by a truck."

"I ask Mycroft 'bout Angus's house."

"Whatever you like," he said, rubbing his face.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Hamish asked, looking up at him with a frown.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm tired. John and Mary are over, we're looking at things for the wedding."

"Oh dear," Hamish sighed.

"We need to look for your suit this afternoon, okay?"

He huffed a little and frowned. "Daddy, John sayed I can wear mine Thomas shirt."

"Well I say you have to wear a suit at least for the ceremony. If you want to wear your Thomas shirt at the party then go right ahead. Now I need to go through the order of my speech with you in case I forget on the day, so you can tell me, yes?"

Hamish cocked his head to the side. "But you won't forget, Daddy. You ahmember everything."

"I forget things when I'm... ah..."

"Frighted?" he suggested.

"No," Sherlock said instantly.

"It okay, Daddy. You can be frighted. Talking to people am not um... not your job."

"I'm not frightened. I'm merely a little worried," he huffed, unlocking the front door and helping Hamish up the stairs.

"'Lo John ah Mary!" Hamish shouted as he bounded into the living room.

John scooped him up and tickled him with a grin. "How was nursery?"

"Good," he giggled. "I did a painting of Daddy, see? It is a keeper. I put it on ah fridge."

"A keeper?" John looked at Sherlock, an eyebrow raised.

The detective shrugged. "A keeper. Something he's tried hard on. Goes on the fridge," he explained, sticking the painting up.

"John. Daddy sayed I haves to wear a suit to ah wedding," Hamish said with a deep frown.

"Well... It would be nice," John said quietly, setting Hamish back on the ground as Sherlock passed the little boy a plate of afternoon tea.

"No. You sayed I not haves to wear one. You sayed I can wear Thomas. You was lying?"

"I wasn't... I didn't..." He pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. "You're right. That is what I said. But Daddy is in charge of that decision, okay?"

Hamish's frown deepened and he gave John an exasperated sigh. "But Daddy doesn't know 'bout these things, John," he said, sighing again.

"Hamish, eat your afternoon tea, please!" Sherlock called from the kitchen.

The little boy rolled his eyes and sat on the floor in front of the television to eat his food.

"You only have one show this afternoon, Hamish, you watched television this morning."

"I know, Daddy. I just watching Peppa Pig."

Sherlock sat in his armchair and looked at John. "Stag Night will be this Friday. Geoff will be meeting us once he finishes at work," he informed him.

"I hope you mean Greg. I don't know anyone called Geoff, Sherlock."

"Greg, that's it. Exactly. Quite right. Mrs. Hudson is going to watch Hamish."

Hamish turned around and frowned at him. "No, Daddy. I coming on ah Snack Night."

"It isn't... how many times will I have to tell you this, Hamish? It is not for children."

"You sayed it is a man party, Daddy. I like parties and I am a man."

"No you're not, you're a two-year-old."

"Yes, I am, Daddy. And I coming on ah Snack Night."

"No you're not. You're going to spend the evening at Mrs. Hudson's, then you're going to go to bed upstairs. I won't be home until late."

"Why? Ahcos of all the snacks?"

Sherlock sighed. "It's not Snack Night, Hamish. It's Stag Night. It's for before John gets married."

Hamish frowned. "No snacks?"

Sherlock shook his head. "None."

"Oh. I not want ah come, Daddy. Have a nice time."

* * *

"Hamish, please stand still so the man can measure you," Sherlock said firmly, holding onto the little boy's shoulders.

Hamish frowned. "Daddy, it am taking a very long time," he sighed.

"It needs to be right," he said gently as Hamish shifted a little and the tailor sighed. "Look, he's two years old. Can you please hurry up?"

The tailor took a few last measurements and nodded. "And it's to be identical to the best man's suit?"

"That's right. No hat though, there's no way he'll wear that."

He nodded. "They never do. So, the same as the best man's suit, no hat," he muttered, scribbling the measurements down. "Is he the ring-bearer?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled. "Yes, it's his... ah..." He frowned, unable to find the right word for what John was to Hamish. He looked up at Mary for help and she smiled.

"My fiancé is Hamish's Uncle, right, Mish?"

"Him is my John," said Hamish, pulling his shirt on back-to-front and his shoes on the wrong feet

* * *

Hamish's play date with Angus crept up on Sherlock, who had completely forgotten about it until Hamish informed him that morning. He proceeded to panic and prattle on at the small boy.

"Hamish, listen to me please. I need you to be very very good for Angus' mother. You do what she tells you, okay?" he said firmly as he got him dressed. "It will be two o'clock when I drop you off, and four o'clock when I pick you up. Be careful and nice please. Don't forget your manners."

"I know, Daddy," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"And when Angus' mother asks you to do something, do not roll your eyes at her, okay? It's rude."

"Daddy, you am very rude to lotsa people. Why I not allowed ah be rude?"

"Because people don't like you when you're rude and I don't want people not liking you," he said softly, fixing Hamish's shirt.

"People like you, Daddy."

"Not very many people," he sighed.

"No. But special people, Daddy. John ah Mary ah Nan," he said with a shrug.

Sherlock sighed again and straightened up, starting to pack Hamish's bag. "I'm not as rude to those people."

Hamish shrugged again and then frowned when Sherlock stuffed Teddy into the backpack. "No, Daddy. I not taking him."

"What? Why not?" Sherlock asked, frowning back at him.

"Teddy is a baby toy. Woobie too. I taking Woody and Buzz and nothing else, okay?"

"A baby toy? But it's... Who told you it was a baby toy? Your mother?"

Hamish shook his head and sighed, tucking Teddy back into his bed. "No. Boys at nursery sayed Teddies and blankies am for babies."

Sherlock frowned. "Are the other boys mean to you, Hamish?"

Hamish looked up at him and shrugged. "It am okay, Daddy. I haves Angus," he said with a smile.

"But if other children are being mean to you, I need to know," he said patiently, sitting down on the bed and pulling Hamish onto his lap.

"They sometimes am mean, Daddy," he said quietly. "And I too little so if they push me, I just fall down," Hamish said, shrugging again.

Sherlock sighed and held him closer. "What mean things do they say?"

"They not let me play wif them. And they do lots of pushing and hitting."

"I'm going to talk to your teachers okay? That's not going to happen anymore. But you don't want to play with people who are mean, okay? It's better to just stay with people who will be kind to you, like Angus."

Hamish nodded and smiled up at him. "I know, Daddy. It okay. We can please go now?"

* * *

Rhiannon smiled as she pulled the door open and Hamish started to run inside before Sherlock grabbed the collar of his shirt and held him back. "You need to wait to be invited inside."

Hamish frowned and Rhiannon said, "Would you like to come inside?" with a smile.

He nodded and beamed, pushing past her and running to hug Angus. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, his hands in his pockets.

"Would you like to come in too?" she asked softly, giving him a bright smile.

"Ah... I don't... He's never been to a friend's house before. I don't really... know the protocol," he managed, staring at the floor.

Rhiannon chuckled and nodded. "You can come in and have a cup of tea, or you can just drop him. Either's fine."

Sherlock furrowed his brows and nodded. "Right. I'll... go then. I have... work. Hamish? I'm going now, okay?"

The little boy looked up at him from down the hall and smiled, running back to the door to hug him. "Bye, Daddy. I be good," he said happily.

"Good boy. I'll see you later."

* * *

John pulled the front door open and frowned. "Um... is everything okay?"

Sherlock nodded and sighed. "Yes, it's fine. They didn't have any cases for me at the Yard and Hamish is at a friend's house."

"Right," John said, doing his best not to laugh. "You want to come in?"

"Well why the hell else would I be here?" he frowned, pushing past him into the kitchen. "Hamish's suit came yesterday. I've yet to be able to get him into it. He might be wearing a Thomas the Tank Engine t-shirt to your wedding after all," he told Mary with a sigh.

"Never mind, love. As long as he's there. That's all we care about," Mary said.

"He can sit at the head table, yes?" Sherlock asked, rifling through the papers spread out across the kitchen table.

"Of course. He's got the seat next to the best man," she smiled softly. "Mrs. Hudson, Greg and Molly all said they're happy to take him for a walk if he gets restless or anything. You don't need to worry about him."

"He'll be fine," he said with a small frown. "He's very well behaved."

John rolled his eyes. "We know. We're just saying, you don't need to worry."

"I'm not worried," he insisted, then, "Do you think this other child's mother will call me if something happens?"

"Nothing's going to happen, Sherlock," Mary said gently, rubbing his arm. "He's fine."

* * *

Sherlock picked Hamish up at precisely 4PM, hurrying him out of the door and into a cab.

"Did you have fun?"

"Yes, Daddy. Angus haves lotsa trains but no Daddy. Angus's Mummy sayed families are all different," he said, fidgeting in his seat.

"That's right."

"What you did today?" Hamish asked.

"I visited John and Mary. Will you try your suit on tonight for me? I need to know if it fits."

"No, thanks," he said with a smile. "I not wearing that one. It is silly."

"Hamish," he sighed, pressing a hand to his temple. "You... Don't you want to look nice and handsome at the wedding?"

"Mine Thomas shirt am handsome, Daddy. When is your man party?"

"It's tomorrow evening."

"I go to Nan's?"

"That's right. But we're not finished talking about the suit, Hamish."

"Yes we are. I not wearing it. Thank you, Daddy."

* * *

Hamish sat on his bed with his nursery backpack, shoving toys, books and for some reason, a pillow into it.

"Be good for Mrs. Hudson please."

Hamish nodded and smiled. "Yes, Daddy. You be good for John, okay?"

"Yes, fine. I'll be good. Now, you're to go to bed when Mrs. Hudson says so, alright?"

He nodded again, packing toys into his backpack. "Yep, okay."

"Hamish, you don't need to pack those things, you're only going downstairs," he frowned.

"I going to Nan's, Daddy. I need ah take things."

"Just hurry up, John and I really need to leave."

John frowned from the doorway. "Sherlock, what's with the rush? Greg can't meet us until half-eight anyway."

"We're on a schedule. Hamish, please hurry up."

The little boy gave him an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Okay okay, Daddy. I coming," he huffed, dragging his backpack behind him as he trotted down the stairs.

* * *

It was a little after eight when Mrs. Hudson decided to take Hamish up for a bath, the little boy running out of her flat and up to the staircase. He started and then frowned. "Daddy? What you are doing at home?"

Sherlock and John stirred and sat up, groaning slightly when they opened their eyes. "What? Why are you still up?"

"It am only bath time, Daddy," he said, Mrs. Hudson rolling her eyes at them.

Sherlock frowned and stood up. "Right then. Well we'll... Right," he said, stretching and heading up the stairs, followed closely by John.

Hamish frowned and followed them up. "Daddy, you not look very good. What about a drink of water?" he suggested, before Mrs. Hudson ushered him down the hall and into the bathroom.

"Never mind about them, love. They're big boys," she sighed as she started to run water into the tub and stripped him off.

"Why they am tired?"

"They've been having too much grown-up juice, I think," she said gently, sitting him in the bath.

Hamish sighed and nodded. "Kay. They seed Uncle Greg?"

"I'm not sure, love. I don't think he'd be finished at work quite yet."

He nodded again, looking up when he heard them giggling from the living room. "Silly Daddy ah John," he said quietly. "Nan, they meant ah be out. Not at my flat," he frowned.

She nodded and sighed. "I know, dear. It's alright. We'll just go to bed, they can deal with themselves. Do you have a story before bedtime?"

"Yep. Daddy reads for me. But maybe not ahday," he said thoughtfully.

"No, I'll read for you today. For something different," she smiled, washing his hair and pulling him from the water, wrapping him tightly in a towel.

Hamish giggled and rested his head on her shoulder as she carried him out of the bathroom, through the living room and up the stairs. He quite happily fell asleep after a chapter of _Matilda_ , and slept right through the night.

* * *

Hamish woke up early the next morning and clambered out of bed, grabbing Teddy and Woobie and heading down the stairs. "Daddy?" he said, looking around the living room and the kitchen with a frown. He looked in Sherlock's room, saying, "Daddy?" again, before heading downstairs and banging on Mrs. Hudson's door. "Nan!"

Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a steaming mug of tea in her hand and curlers in her hair. "What's wrong, Hamish, love? Are you alright?"

Hamish nodded and sighed. "Where is Daddy?" he asked, his head cocked to the side.

"Is he not upstairs?"

He shook his head. "I looked anywhere. Even in hims room."

She sighed and nodded, picking him up and carrying him inside her flat. She sat him at the kitchen table and set about making some toast. "I'm sure he'll be home soon, Hamish."

"He not camed home, I think," he said, sitting Teddy on the seat beside him.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and smiled. "That's alright, love. I'm going to call Uncle Greg in a minute, okay?"

Hamish nodded. "Maybe Daddy ah John getted arrested by Uncle Greg," he said cheerfully.

"Well I hope not," she chuckled, setting his jam toast in front of him.

"Ta, Nan," he smiled and took a large bite of his toast.

* * *

Sherlock and John came home a little after nine in the morning with their tails between their legs. Sherlock went straight upstairs and John headed into Mrs. Hudson's flat, rubbing his eyes and sitting beside Hamish on the sofa. "Lo, John!"

"Shhh. Quiet mate," he said, frowning deeply and pulling Hamish onto his lap while the little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth.

"Why I have to be quiet?" he whispered loudly.

"I've got a headache."

"Oh dear. I get you a drink ah water," he said with a smile, slipping off of his lap and running into the kitchen. He climbed up onto the counter and stood up, grabbing a cup from the cupboard and carefully running some water into it. He smiled and slowly climbed back down to the floor, the water sloshing over the sides of the cup as he carefully walked back to the living room, the little cup only about a quarter full by the time he passed it to John.

"Thanks, Hame. That's really kind," he smiled, taking a sip of water.

Hamish nodded. "Daddy sayed ah be kind."

"Daddy said that huh? That's a good thing to remember, Mish."

He nodded again and crawled back up onto the sofa, cuddling into his side. "Where am Daddy?"

"He's upstairs, mate."

"Okay. You getted arrested from Uncle Greg?"

"Um... Not exactly, Hame. Are you going to see Daddy?"

Hamish thought for a moment and nodded. "Kay," he said, slipping down onto the floor and heading up the stairs. "Daddy? Daddy!" he shouted, heading into Sherlock's bedroom and climbing up onto the bed beside Sherlock. "Ah morning, Daddy," he said with a bright smile while Sherlock groaned and pulled the duvet over his head. "You need a drink ah water too, Daddy?"

Sherlock grunted and waved a hand at him.

"Kay. I get a drink ah water. Wait right here, kay, Daddy?"

He grunted again and Hamish quickly dashed off, quickly returning with a cup half-filled with water.

"Here go, Daddy," he said brightly, handing it to Sherlock, who pushed the duvet off and took a sip of water, pulling Hamish up to his chest.

"Good morning," he mumbled.

"Ah morning, Daddy. You haved a good snack night?"

He chuckled. "It was fine, for a snack night."

"You getted arrested from Uncle Greg?" he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

Sherlock smiled and kissed his forehead. "Not by Uncle Greg. But we did get arrested."

"Why?"

"For being silly," he said softly.

Hamish frowned. "Oh dear. I can get arrested for being silly? But it is fun, Daddy."

"No, it's... It's a different kind of silly. You don't need to worry, Hamish. You can be as silly as you like."

Hamish smiled and cuddled into him. "Kay good," he said happily. "You be silly too, kay, Daddy? But careful silly."

"I think I can probably manage that."


	2. A Wedding

"Hamish, I'm only going to say this one more time. You are wearing the suit, or you are not coming at all," Sherlock sighed.

"But John sayed..."

"John is not in charge," Sherlock snapped, attempting to put the trousers onto the little boy while he struggled and shouted at him.

"John sayed I can wear Thomas! John is ah boss, not Daddy! I not wearing ah silly suit!" Hamish wriggled until Sherlock lost his grip on him, and the tiny boy bolted up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

"Hamish," Sherlock groaned, running a hand through his hair before heading to his own bedroom to get changed.

Hamish emerged half an hour later to find Sherlock in his armchair, completely ready to leave. "Oh," he said softly, sticking a finger in his mouth. "Daddy, you look nice."

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled. "Would you like to get dressed?"

Hamish gave a small nod.

"Into your suit like this one?"

He thought for a moment and nodded again. "Yes, Daddy. Like Daddy's one."

Sherlock grinned and picked him up, carrying him into his bedroom and starting to get him dressed. "You're going to look wonderful, Hamish. John and Mary will be so happy that you're in your suit," he said proudly as he buttoned his little shirt up.

Hamish beamed and held onto his Teddy. "It a nice suit, Daddy."

"It's lovely," he smiled, kissing his cheek and helping with his shoes.

"I wish I have a hat like Daddy," he said, pointing to Sherlock's hat sitting on the sofa.

"You would never have worn it, Hamish. Come along now, we're running late."

He dashed down the stairs, Hamish nearly tumbling over himself as he was dragged along behind his father. Sherlock dragged Hamish into a cab and snapped the address at the driver, straightening Hamish's tie as he settled him on his lap. Teddy was clutched in Hamish's arms, wearing a tie Mrs. Hudson had made him to match Hamish.

"Daddy, who ah be at ah wedding?" Hamish asked, fiddling with Teddy's tie and looking out the window.

"There will be lots of people, Mish. John and Mary, Molly, Uncle Greg."

"Uncle Myc?" he asked hopefully, starting to squirm.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so," he shrugged, letting him sit on the seat beside him.

Hamish frowned. "Oh dear. What about your talk, Daddy? Uncle Myc ah miss it," he said seriously, sticking out his lower lip.

"Yes, I suppose he will."

* * *

"Um, escuse me, Daddy?" Hamish said softly as the cab pulled up outside the church and John came out to meet them.

"What is it, Hamish?" he asked with a sigh as he helped him onto the ground.

"I not have my breakfast," he said with a small frown. "Hungry now," he sighed, rubbing his belly.

Sherlock sighed and gave John a panicked look. "Hamish... It's not my responsibility to..."

"Yes, it is," John snapped, picking Hamish up. "We'll get you some breakfast, buddy," he said as Hamish sighed.

"Daddy not haved breakfast neither, John."

"Well that is Daddy's responsibility," John said firmly, carrying Hamish into the church kitchen and sitting him on the bench while he rummaged in the fridge. "Would you like some erm... cheese? Or crisps?" he suggested with a wince as Mrs. Hudson bustled in and waved him away.

"I'll sort him, John, I brought cereal," she sighed, snatching Hamish and pushing John out of the room.

"Yay, Nana!" Hamish cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "You bringed corfnakes?"

She chuckled. "No, love. I brought cheerios, is that alright?"

He nodded and smiled, sucking his thumb. "Daddy forgetted breakfast too."

"Well then we'd better make some for him too then, hmm?"

"Um, okay but him not haves milk in his cheerios," he nodded, fiddling with his tie.

Mrs. Hudson chuckled to herself. "Of course he doesn't. You look very handsome today, Hamish."

Hamish beamed and gave a proud nod. "Yeah. Just like my Daddy."

* * *

"Now, Hamish," Sherlock said seriously, kneeling in front of him. "Can you remember your job?"

The little boy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Daddy. When ah man say, 'Rings', I come up ah give him mine pillow," he nodded.

"Alright. And before that, what do you do?"

"Be good ah quiet for Molly," he recited, peering past Sherlock to give Lestrade a wave.

"Hamish, pay attention," Sherlock snapped, holding his little hands. "You be good for Molly, alright?"

Hamish sighed again. "I know, Daddy. I already sayed yes. I go see Greg now? Uncle Myc is coming?"

"Yes, you may go and speak to Lestrade. No, Mycroft is not coming."

He frowned. "But what about Daddy's talk?"

"He doesn't care about my talk," he sighed. "Now go and play nicely, I'll tell you when you need to go and wait with Molly."

* * *

The ceremony went remarkably well. Swimmingly, in fact. Sherlock stayed silent the entire time, nobody forgot what to say, and when the Vicar called for the rings, Hamish very proudly made his way up the aisle and carefully handed the wedding ring cushion to him, before turning to give the congregation a wide grin and a bow, and clambering into Sherlock's lap.

Pictures went less smoothly, Sherlock got confused about the fact that he wasn't exactly wanted in every single picture, and was then grumpy about being confused. Hamish tripped over and ripped a hole in his trousers before bursting into tears, and when he told Sherlock all about it, he was snapped at. This resulted in a full-blown shouting match between the two, caught on camera and eventually broken up by Mrs. Hudson.

"You boys are not to shout at each other. It's rude," she scolded, sitting them both down on a nearby bench. "Now, you'll need to say sorry to each other."

"But Daddy was not..."

"I didn't do..."

"Do not argue," she said firmly. "Sherlock, apologise to Hamish for shouting at him."

Sherlock sighed and tapped his foot for a moment. "Sorry, Hamish."

"I sorry too, Daddy," Hamish sighed, scrambling into his lap. "Now we can go to ah married party?"

* * *

"Daddy, I just getting a drink ah water, okay?"

"No," Sherlock sighed, grabbing him around the middle and forcing him back onto his seat. "Not okay. You can't go to the bar."

"Why not? I haves a suit on."

"It's not about wearing a suit, it's about being an adult, which you are not."

"Yes, I am, Daddy. You am not a adult."

Sherlock frowned. "Yes I am."

Hamish giggled and sat Teddy in John's currently empty seat. "No you not. Not a real one."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I will get you a drink of water. You will stay right here, alright?"

"Okay, Daddy," he nodded as Sherlock stood up and walked over to the bar.

"Oh dear, someone's taken my seat!" John chuckled as he moved Teddy onto Hamish's lap and sat down. Hamish giggled and stood up on his chair to poke John's cheek.

"Daddy getting me a drink ah water," he smiled. "When is Daddy's talk?"

John smiled and gently sat him back down on his chair. "Soon. When he gets back with your water."

"Daddy not happy 'bout his talk," he sighed, holding Teddy close to his chest.

"No?" John frowned. "Why's that?"

Hamish shrugged and looked back to the bar where Sherlock was on his way back with his glass of water. "Him is worried," he said. "Ta, Daddy."

"Who's worried?" Sherlock frowned as he sat down, handing Hamish his drink.

"You am worried 'bout your talk."

"No I'm not," he snapped, sipping at Hamish's water and fiddling with the thick wad of palm cards his speech was written on.

"'Scuse me, Daddy. That am my water," Hamish frowned, snatching the glass from him and sloshing it down his own front.

Sherlock ignored him, breathing deeply through his nose as the Master of Ceremonies announced his speech. The wedding guests clapped and cheered and Hamish beamed, patting Sherlock's arm as he stood up and started to speak. The first sentence or so went quite well before Sherlock froze, or perhaps forgot what he was supposed to say, and Hamish frowned. "Daddy?" he whispered. "The telephones," he prompted, patting the palm cards on the table. Sherlock nodded and smiled as he picked them up and started quickly reading them out.

Sherlock managed a little more of his speech before stopping and looking through his palm cards again. "Number seven now, Daddy," Hamish whispered loudly, before counting out and holding up seven fingers.

Before long, Sherlock had the entire room in tears and then panicked at the sudden unplanned surge of emotion surrounding him until John stood up and hugged him for, as far as he could remember, the first time.

"Right," he said, straightening his jacket as John sat back down. "Before I continue with some amusing anecdotes about John, Hamish has a small speech he has prepared," he said, helping Hamish stand up on his chair. "Can you remember it?" he whispered, and Hamish sighed and nodded.

"Yes, Daddy," he said, clearing his throat and grabbing one of Sherlock's discarded palm cards so he felt more important. He smiled brightly at the crowd of people watching him. "Um... John am very nice. He haves nice hair, and him's jumpers am nice and soft. I love him." he smiled. "And Mary too," he added, nodding and sitting back down as John reached across Sherlock to kiss Hamish's cheek.

"That was a brilliant speech, little man."

Hamish grinned and nodded, tapping Sherlock's arm. "Number more-than-ten now, Daddy," he said happily as Sherlock started speaking again. Sherlock quite suddenly launched into a lengthy and detailed description of a case involving the attempted murder of a royal guard, an audience participation segment, and a sudden epiphany.

"Vatican Cameos," he said suddenly from where he was standing in the middle of the room.

Mary frowned and looked at John. "Vatican Cameos, what does that mean?"

"It means someone's going to die. It means we have to get Hamish out," John said quickly, pulling Hamish to his chest and quickly leaving through a side door.

"John?" Hamish frowned. "What are you doing? Daddy is doing his talk," he said, pointing back into the room.

"Talk's over, little man," he said, meeting Lestrade in the foyer. "You go with Uncle Greg while Daddy and I sort something out, okay?"

"No!" Hamish shouted. "Not okay! Where am Daddy? He haves to do his talk!"

Sherlock appeared from around the corner, grabbing Hamish around the middle and forcing him into Lestrade's arms. "Be good and be quiet," he said firmly before dragging John and Mary up the staircase.

Hamish shrieked and squirmed violently, bursting into tears. "I go with Daddy. I help Daddy!" he shouted as Lestrade carried him outside to occupy him and call for police backup. He set Hamish on the ground where the little boy sat in the gravel and frowned deeply, picking up the small rocks and throwing them at the doors to the building.

By the time the police arrived, Hamish had calmed himself down, standing up excitedly and grabbing at Lestrade's trouser leg. "Them haves alarms on!" he grinned as Greg picked him up so he could see better.

"They're here to help Daddy," he said, taking Hamish inside where he met Sherlock, John, Mary, and the wedding photographer.

"Daddy!" Hamish smiled, all but leaping into his arms. "You not finished your talk."

Sherlock chuckled and kissed his cheek. "Not to worry. I got to solve a case instead," he smiled.

"Why you not letted me help?" he frowned.

"It was a job for grown-ups," he said firmly, patting his back. "But it's finished now."

Hamish nodded. "You getted the baddie? It is time for the party now?"

"Yes and yes," Sherlock smiled. "Are you hungry?"

"I am hungry. Can I have crisps, please?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, since you asked so nicely. Come along, you can help me play my music," he smiled, carrying him back into the room.

* * *

"Hamish, it's time to go. Where are your shoes?"

Molly, who was dancing with Hamish, stopped as the little boy looked up at Sherlock and grinned. "I taked them off for dancing. Why we are going home? I not danced with you yet, Daddy."

"We're going home because it's time for you to go to bed. I don't really like dancing," he said, his cheeks turning a little pink as Janine caught his eye. "Come on. Time to go," he said, taking Hamish from Molly and holding him close.

Hamish sighed and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder as they walked up the drive. "Daddy, why you said there am three of Mary and John? There am only two," he said, holding two fingers up.

Sherlock chuckled. "Good counting. It's because now there are three of them. Mary is going to have a baby."

He lifted his head up and his eyes widened. "A baby? Mary am having a baby? What sort of baby? Can I see it?" He wriggled to be put down and Sherlock laughed, hailing a cab.

"Not yet," he said, clambering in and sitting Hamish beside him. "It's not big enough to see yet, or to know if it's a boy or a girl."

"It am a baby girl," he said decidedly. "What is hims name?"

Sherlock smiled. "We don't know yet. We only know that it is a baby, and it's growing inside of Mary."

Hamish sighed and nodded, curling into Sherlock's side. "You did a nice talk, Daddy," he yawned.

"Thank you, little one. You go to sleep, hmm?" he said, smiling as he looked down at Hamish, who had already fallen asleep.


	3. Janine

A drug den.

John had found Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, father of a two-and-a-half year old, high, in a drug den. He dragged him up the front steps of 221B and into the foyer where Mycroft Holmes was sitting halfway up the stairs, glaring at them while Hamish stood in front of the door with his hands on his hips.

"Daddy! You am very very late! 'Anine am still in your room. But you are out. And you sayed you not going out any more, Daddy, cause last time, last time you was sick. And also Uncle Mycroft am here and so am Anderson and some other people, I don't know who they are." He frowned deeply and stomped his foot as John wheeled Sherlock around and shook him by the shoulders.

"What the hell is he talking about? Get upstairs. Mycroft, move," he snapped as the elder Holmes frowned and stood up, heading upstairs, Hamish skipping up the stairs behind him. "Hame, mate, can you... Go to your room for me?"

Hamish frowned. "No, I am a big boy," he said firmly, climbing up into John's armchair as Sherlock curled up in his own chair, pulling his hood up over his head.

"Get out of my bloody kitchen!" Sherlock shouted. ("Daddy, that a naughty word.") "As if I would leave it here in the flat where you or anyone else could find it."

Mycroft sighed and ushered them out. "John, deal with this please," he said as he sauntered back down the stairs.

John sighed and lifted Hamish up, sitting him on his lap as he sat in his chair. "Sherlock," he said softly. "You... You can't leave Hamish by himself."

"He wasn't by himself," Sherlock mumbled. "He was in bed when I left and Janine was here," he shrugged.

"J-Janine? What?" John frowned as Janine emerged from Sherlock's room wearing one of his shirts.

"Oh," she smiled. "You're up, Mishy. And you, Sherlock. You'll have to tell me where you keep running off to," she sighed, picking Hamish up and kissing his nose.

John's frown deepened. "What... What exactly is... happening here?"

"I'm having a bath," Sherlock announced, standing up and patting Hamish's head on his way past.

Janine smiled. "Sherl loves his baths. Do you want coffee, John?"

"Erm... No. Thanks. Are you two... What's..."

She chuckled. "I thought he may have forgotten to mention. It hasn't been too long. A month or two maybe. I'd better go check on him," she smiled, setting Hamish on the floor and heading into the bathroom.

Hamish sighed and sat by his train set. "Mish," John began. "Is Janine... Daddy's friend?"

Hamish nodded and smiled. "Daddy's girfriend," he said. "She am real real nice. But it a secret."

"What's a secret?" he asked softly, sitting on the floor beside him and playing with the trains.

"It a secret that Daddy doesn't really love 'Anine. He's just 'tending."

John frowned. "He's pretending to love Janine?"

"Yeah. But it's a secret, kay?"

"Alright," John sighed. "But, little man... that might hurt Janine's feelings don't you think? If she finds out Daddy doesn't really love her."

Hamish nodded. "Daddy not cares," he sighed. "I telled him it was naughty but he didn't want to listen. And... Can I tell you another secret?" he asked softly.

John nodded and gently pulled him into his lap. "Of course, mate. You can tell me anything."

Hamish sighed and rubbed his nose. "When Daddy goes out at the nighttime, he comes home all grumpy and cross, and sometimes sad," he said quietly.

John sighed and held Hamish close. "It's because... Where Daddy goes... He um... It makes him feel like that. But listen, Hame. He isn't going to go away anymore. I'll make sure of it. It's all going to be okay now, little man."

He nodded and sniffled. "Kay. John, it haves been a long long time since you camed over here," Hamish said.

John nodded and kissed the top of his head. "I know, Mish. I'm sorry about that. Are these trains new?"

"Yeah. Daddy got me some new ones when he shouted at me."

"When did he shout at you?" John asked with a frown, and Hamish sighed.

"He didn't mean it. He was just sad," he said, carefully lining the trains up in a neat row.

* * *

Once John had fed Hamish breakfast and made himself a strong cup of tea, Sherlock came out of his bedroom, clean-shaven and dressed in his finest suit with his hair done as neatly as it could be.

"John, I'll be meeting Charles Augustus Magnussen in a few hours, I'd appreciate if you'd either offer to mind Hamish or come with me. Your choice of course," he said, sitting in his armchair while Hamish looked warily at him.

John frowned deeply and looked at Sherlock. "You... You have a girlfriend."

"Yes," Sherlock sighed, looking at his watch and pulling Hamish into his lap. "It's alright, Hamish. I'm fine now."

"Yes, you have a girlfriend," John eventually repeated and Sherlock frowned.

"Er... Yes. I'm going out with Janine. Thought that was fairly obvious. Hamish would have talked to you about it."

"You know what? Yeah, he did, and he said that..." he silenced himself as Janine came out of Sherlock's room, fully dressed with a bright smile.

"You boys had better behave yourselves," she said, giggling as she kissed Sherlock, then Hamish's forehead as Sherlock stood up to see her to the door.

"Have a lovely day," Sherlock said sweetly as Hamish pulled a face and squirmed until Sherlock put him down. "Call me later." He and Janine kissed noisily for a while before she rushed down the stairs. Sherlock slammed the door behind her and sighed. "Right. You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's so much more than that."

John frowned deeply. "Sherlock... Can we... Not talk about that right now?"

"Oh. Alright. I mean, it is fairly important. But if there was something else you felt should take precedence?"

John sighed and stood up. "Actually, yeah, there is something I think should take precedence, and that's your son."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "And if I remember correctly, also your son, although it's been over a month and a half since you even laid eyes on him."

"Sherlock, I was away and you were call screening me!"

"I was not, I was call screening your sex holiday. I don't need to deal with that sort of thing."

John grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer. "You can't go and get high ever again. Understand? You've got a baby, Sherlock."

"Hey!" Hamish frowned. "I not a baby. I a big boy!"

John sighed and picked Hamish up. "I know, Hame, I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget how very very big you are."

"Well I am big," he nodded, resting his head on John's shoulder.

"You've got a son, Sherlock. This can never happen again. If anybody found out..."

Sherlock cut across him. "If anybody found out, which I hope they will, it's really the entire point, they would have Hamish removed and sent to live with you until Mycroft had me cleared. There's nothing to worry about. I need to get Magnussen's attention. Hamish is safe and happy, that's what matters."

"And does he know that his Daddy loves him?" John asked, his voice quiet.

Hamish nodded. "Yeah. Except when Daddy is shouty."

"Wrong, Hamish, I love you even when I'm shouty. Can we please move on now, John?"

"No, we can't," John said, setting Hamish on the ground. "Hamish says you're only pretending to love Janine. Is that true?"

Sherlock pulled a face. "Of course it's true. I don't do romantic relationships, I thought even you could have figured that out by now."

John gaped at him. "Sherlock you can't... You can't do that to somebody."

"I can, you'll find it's very important."

"What could be this bloody important?"

"If you'd been listening to me at all this morning, you'd know. Magnussen. Now he's... What now, Mrs. Hudson?" he snapped as she came into the flat and hugged Hamish.

"That was the doorbell, dear, didn't you hear it?"

Sherlock frowned. "It's in the fridge, it kept ringing."

Hamish piped up, rolling his eyes. "I telled Daddy that am what a doorbell is for but he not listened."

"Who is it, Mrs. H?" John asked gently, and she frowned, taking in a short breath before scurrying back down the stairs.

Hamish peered down over the landing after her and came running back into the flat as three large men in dark suits entered. John picked Hamish up and rubbed his back as the men gestured for them to stand up and started to frisk Sherlock. John sighed and sat Hamish on the sofa, spreading his arms out.

"The baby too," one of the security men said, and Hamish folded his arms and glared at them.

"I not a baby! I a big boy! Look, I have pants on, not a nappy!" he said, starting to pull his trousers down before John grabbed his arms.

"You're not frisking him. He's a little kid."

Looks were exchanged with the tallest and thinnest of the three, Charles Augustus Magnussen, who gave a small shrug.

"I understood we were meeting at your office," Sherlock said, frowning at Magnussen as he smirked.

"This is my office," he said simply. "Well, it is now."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "I'm acting on behalf of Lady Elizabeth Smallwood in the matter of..."

Magnussen spoke over him, looking over at one of his security guards. "Bathroom?"

"Along from the kitchen, Sir," he nodded, and Magnussen frowned slightly as Sherlock continued speaking.

"In the matter of her husband's letters. I am aware that..."

"Is it like the rest of the flat? The bathroom?"

"Yes, Sir," his security guard nodded while Sherlock frowned and Hamish frowned deeper.

"Perhaps not then," Magnussen nodded. "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood, hmm? I like her."

"Mr. Magnussen," Sherlock said firmly. "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English, with a spine," he said thoughtfully, pushing the coffee table aside with his foot and moving over to the fireplace. He undid his trousers and began quite casually urinating over the grate. "You're all so domesticated. All standing around, apologising."

Hamish stood up and kicked Magnussen's leg. "Hey! You can't wee there! That am our fire! You need to do your wees in the toilet. It am just down there. I can show you," he said as Sherlock grabbed him around the middle and lifted him to his chest. "Daddy, him is weeing in the fire!"

"I know, Hamish," he said softly.

Magnussen zipped his trousers back up and wiped his hands, not looking up at Sherlock as he turned towards the door. "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'll be keeping them. Goodbye," he said cheerfully, dropping the wet wipe to the floor. "Anyway. They're funny," he chuckled coldly, briefly pulling a large packet of documents from his breast pocket before he stuffed it back inside and left.

Sherlock smiled brightly, setting Hamish on the floor while John fumed. "Daddy, that mean man weed in the fire," Hamish said softly, pulling on Sherlock's trouser leg.

"Never mind that. He clearly believes I'm not a threat to him, that's why he showed me that he's brought the letters with him. He'll be out from seven 'til ten tonight, the letters will be safely tucked away in his office. Right, John, I'll see you tonight. Hamish, you'll be spending the evening with Mrs. Hudson, hmm?"

Hamish sighed and fiddled with his hands. "Why I can't come?"

Sherlock bit his lip, thinking as John roughly whacked his arm. "Because it's not safe, Mish," John said softly. "Wait, Sherlock, what's tonight?"

"I'll text instructions, don't worry, you are free, I've checked. Off you go then, bye bye. Hamish and I are going shopping."


	4. Bulletholes

"But, Daddy," Hamish frowned, hurrying along behind him as Sherlock stuffed the small felt box into his breast pocket and rushed down the busy street. "You not just tell 'Anine to get married ah you. You not love her, Daddy. Daddy, you not listening!" he shrieked, stomping his foot.

"Hamish, this is very important, alright? I don't expect you to understand," Sherlock said gently, picking him up and walking faster.

"Now where we are going?" Hamish asked softly, rubbing his eyes.

"We're going home. You're going to stay with Mrs. Hudson, and John and I are going out on a case."

Hamish sighed. "Daddy, Nana is not home. She goed on holiday, 'member?"

Sherlock stopped walking and blinked at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. She leaved after lunchtime."

"Right. Well perhaps... You can probably come on this case. It won't be dangerous," he said, walking home. "I'll give you dinner beforehand, hmm? Then we'll go."

Hamish grinned. "Yay, Daddy! I can come on ah case! I a big big boy and a big helper too!"

"Yes," Sherlock sighed. "But you'll need to stay with me, and do exactly as I say, alright?"

Hamish nodded very seriously, and held onto Sherlock's coat. "Kay, Daddy. I be good."

* * *

Sherlock held tightly onto Hamish's hand as they entered the enormous, but just about empty office building. John stared at him with his mouth and eyes wide open.

"Sherlock... Sherlock, you can't have him here. It's not safe. You said... I told you..."

He waved his hand dismissively at John and sighed. "It's fine. I couldn't get a babysitter. Molly's on a date, Mrs. Hudson's on holidays, and Mary said she was busy."

John frowned slightly. "Really? She must have booked something in," he shrugged, taking Hamish's hand. "Maybe I could take him home."

"No, we need to do this now. It's fine. There's no danger at all, I promise. I'll leave him with Janine."

John's frown deepened. "Janine?"

Sherlock nodded. "Now, Magnussen's office is on the top floor, just below his private flat. But there are fourteen levels of security between us and him. So we're going to break in."

"You said this was safe for Hamish, Sherlock," John frowned.

"It is, He'll be fine. I've planned everything perfectly." Sherlock walked up to the lift and scanned a security key card.

"Sherlock, how did you get a card that clears you for this lift? Doesn't this go up to his offices?" John asked, trying to keep Hamish quiet and occupied.

He nodded and beamed. "I wiped the card. They're not exactly going to come running up to tackle Magnussen to the ground are they? I scan it and it takes me straight to his personal staff. Now, who'd be here at this hour? His PA," he smirked as Janine's voice came through the intercom.

"Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing? Have you brought Hamish?"

Sherlock beamed into the camera and Hamish whispered into John's ear. "Him is 'tending ah get married."

John glared at Sherlock as he said, "Go on, Janine, let me in."

"You know I can't do that, Sherlock," she giggled.

"Well don't make me do it out here... in front of everyone," he said sheepishly, reaching into his pocket.

"Do what in..."

Sherlock took a deep breath before holding the small box he'd pulled from his pocket up to the camera, showing her the enormous engagement ring inside it. Janine gasped and held a hand to her chest. She giggled, and a blue light switched on as the lift doors opened in front of them. John stared between Sherlock and the ring.

"See? People, weak spot," Sherlock said cheerfully as he stepped into the lift.

"Sherlock, that was Janine," John frowned, grabbing his arm.

"Of course it was, she's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point," he said as John put Hamish down.

Hamish whacked Sherlock and frowned. "That was really naughty and mean, Daddy."

John gaped at Sherlock for another few moments before stepping into the lift beside him. "Did you just get engaged to break into an office?"

"God, you're slow. Yes, of course I did. Stroke of luck meeting her at your wedding," he smiled.

"Daddy, 'Anine loves you," Hamish said with a frown.

"I know, Hamish. Human error."

John frowned even deeper than Hamish and pulled the little boy close to him. "Sherlock, you can't... What are you going to do?"

"Well, not actually marry her, obviously. I mean our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss's office. I imagine she'll want to stop seeing me once she realises that," he shrugged as the lift doors opened again. Sherlock plastered a sickening smile across his face and bounced into the room, frowning slightly when he couldn't find Janine.

"There, Daddy," Hamish said, pointing at where Janine was lying on the floor. He took a step forward before John grabbed him around the middle.

"I told you we shouldn't have brought him," John snapped, holding Hamish firmly in his arms while he rushed over to Janine. "It's a blow to the head. She's breathing. Janine?" he quickly checked over her, holding Hamish close while Sherlock went into the next room.

"Another in here," Sherlock called. "Ex-con. White Supremacist. Stay with Janine. I'm going upstairs," he said, dashing off as John sighed and sat Hamish on the floor.

"John..." he said softly, touching Janine's cheek. "What happen ah 'Anine?"

John sighed and pulled him into his lap. "She's okay, mate. A baddie hit her. But she's going to be fine. I promise."

Hamish nodded and pressed his face into John's chest. "Is Daddy getting the baddie?"

"Yes," John nodded. "Daddy's getting the baddie, then we're going to go home."

"I tired," Hamish sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, but jumping and starting to cry when a gunshot went off somewhere above their heads.

John swore under his breath and picked Hamish up, holding his head down as he ran up the stairs to find Magnussen out cold on the floor, and Sherlock on the other side of the room, flat on his back with blood leaking out across his chest and onto the carpet below him.

"Daddy!" Hamish shouted through his tears, wriggling for John to let go of him.

"No no no, shhhh, Mish. It's alright, buddy. You're okay," he said softly, quickly dialling triple nine for an ambulance. After quite a few minutes of trying to wake Sherlock up, John gave up and stood, pacing the room and gently bouncing Hamish in his arms while he cried and tried desperately to get to Sherlock. "It's okay," John said softly as the paramedics arrived and quickly loaded Sherlock onto a gurney, rushing back through the building with him.

Hamish kicked John in the stomach and squirmed violently as Sherlock was wheeled away. "John! They taking Daddy! Let. Me. Go!" he shouted as John quickly carried him downstairs, hailing a cab and climbing inside.

He tried to call Mary three times, and sighed when she wouldn't answer. Hamish settled against his chest, his thumb in his mouth, tears continuing to run down his face. "I'm sorry, little man. That was really scary, I know," he said softly, stroking Hamish's hair. "Daddy's going to be alright. The doctors at the hospital will take very good care of him."

If he didn't have Hamish with him, John would have gone straight to the hospital and waited for news of Sherlock. Instead, he called Mycroft who was, of course, already there, and asked him to text through regular updates. He took Hamish home and carried him upstairs, making him a warm cup of milk and sitting on the sofa with him, rocking him gently until he eventually fell asleep.

John slept on the sofa. He woke up in the early hours of the morning with a bad back and his arm completely numb beneath Hamish. He yawned and stretched his free arm, grabbing his phone and looking through Mycroft's texts.

 _22:23 - They've taken Sherlock straight into surgery to remove the bullet._

 _00:16 - They're refusing to give me any actual information._

 _02:48 - Sherlock's heart stopped during surgery, but they got him back. He's alright, still unconscious and in intensive care._

 _04:12 - Sherlock has been moved onto the ward. He's recovering well. You and Hamish will be cleared for a visit this morning._

John rubbed his eyes and sighed, holding Hamish closer while the little boy continued to sleep. He ran back over the events of the previous night in his head. Bringing Hamish along was quite possibly the worst idea Sherlock had ever had. And who was it that shot Sherlock? Not Magnussen, he was unconscious when John arrived. Somebody else then. Presumably the same person that had knocked out Janine. Hamish stirred in his arms and opened one eye, clinging to John's shirt.

"John?"

"Good morning, little man. Daddy's okay. He's at the hospital. We're going to visit him soon, okay?"

Hamish nodded and sighed. "What happened to my Daddy, John?"

John sighed and stood up, swapping Hamish onto his other hip and heading into the kitchen to boil the kettle. "He was shot, Hamish. With a gun. Somebody shot him," he said, sitting him on the counter and pouring him a cup of orange juice.

"Oh dear me," said Hamish. "But he is okay?"

"He is okay," John nodded. "We'll go and visit him after breakfast. Did you have a bath yesterday?"

"Um... I don't think so," he shrugged. "I can't really 'ahmember."

"Right. How about we have breakfast, then a bath, then we'll get dressed and go visit Daddy?"

Hamish nodded and smiled. "Good idea, John! I would like porridge please," he said. "It's in there. Daddy puts special fruit on top. It's in the fridgernator. I can show you," he said, slipping down onto the floor from the counter and pulling the fridge door open. He rummaged around for a moment before grabbing a punnet of blueberries and holding it up. "Here!"

"Ooh, yummy. Do you think I could have some on my porridge too?" he smiled, taking them from him and lifting him up to sit on the counter again.

"Yeah. I a very very great sharer. Do you wanna see my picture I did at nursery? It am on the fridge. It of me and Daddy!"

John smiled as he started making the porridge. "That's a brilliant picture. Did you paint it?"

Hamish nodded and beamed. "Yeah. And I writed my name on, see?"

"I can see. You've done a brilliant job, mate."

Hamish nodded and swung his legs idly while he watched John cook the porridge on the stove. "You am quiet, John. Daddy just talks and talks and talks. Esept when 'Anine am here. Then him is quiet too. Maybe ladies make mans quiet," he said thoughtfully, and John chuckled.

"I'm just thinking about everything that happened last night," John said.

"I didn't like it," Hamish sighed. "It was a bit scary."

John nodded and sighed, touching his cheek before putting the porridge out into two bowls and pouring the berries on top. "I know it was. And it's okay that you felt scared, Hame. It wasn't okay for Daddy to bring you. We should have taken you back home. So I'm sorry about that."

Hamish shrugged. "It okay. Can we see Daddy now?" he asked through a mouthful of porridge.

"Soon. After you've had a bath."

"Daddy not meaned for me to get scared and him to get shooted. It was a accident," he said. "Daddy thinked it was a safe case."

"I know. But Daddy made a mistake. Any case could be dangerous. And Daddy's work isn't a place for little boys to be," he said patiently, eating his breakfast.

Hamish nodded and sat quietly for a few moments while he ate. "John, I not want ah go to nursery today. I just want ah see Daddy."

"Is it a nursery day today?" John asked, and Hamish sighed.

"Yes, see the sh-shed-schedule?" he said, pointing to a colourful weekly planner stuck on the front of the fridge, with pictures depicting each activity they had on throughout the week.

"Oh, I do see. Today is Tuesday, so you have nursery," he smiled.

Hamish nodded. "But I not want ah go."

"Okay, I'll call them and tell them you won't be coming today. That's fine."

In a little over two and a half hours (John was quite out of practice in regards to getting small people ready for the day), Hamish and John were fully dressed and ready to go. Hamish had drawn on a card for Sherlock and was keen to find him a 'getting better' gift on the way to the hospital.

"Alright, Mishy. Ready to go?" John smiled, taking his little hand.

Hamish nodded and smiled. "Ready to go see my Daddy."


	5. Liar

"John, I can get a cab," Hamish announced as he hurried down the stairs and jumped up and down until he managed to get the door open. John chuckled and lifted him up to sit on his hip.

"I've got it, mate. Don't worry," he smiled, hailing a cab and helping Hamish into the back seat.

Hamish pulled his knees up to his chin and sighed, pressing his face up to the window. "John, is my Daddy gonna be awake?" he asked quietly.

"Maybe," John nodded. "He'll probably be very tired and sore, so we have to be gentle and quiet, okay?"

"Yeah. I know. Daddy haves been in ah... in ah hostible ahfore," he nodded, fiddling with the card he'd made.

John nodded again and reached over to gently hold his little hand. "I know. But Daddy's okay," he said, giving him a small smile. "It'll cheer Daddy up lots to see you. And your card is lovely. You don't need to worry."

Hamish nodded and stared out of the window, holding onto John's hand as the cab pulled up at the hospital. John picked him up, paid the cabbie, and hurried up the front steps and into the lift. "What number am Daddy on?" Hamish asked, wriggling to be put down and pointing at the numbered buttons.

John smiled and held his hand. "Number 7. Can you reach it?"

"Yep! I got it," he beamed, standing on his toes so he could reach. He pressed himself into John's side and fidgeted as the lift took them up to the seventh floor. When the doors opened, he grabbed John's hand and dragged him out onto the ward. "Quick quick quick, Daddy am waiting."

John chuckled and led him through the ward, over to Sherlock's private room. The door was ajar and Hamish beamed as he threw it open and jumped inside.

"Uncle Myc!" he shouted, before quickly being hushed by John and settled into a chair.

"You need to be quiet, Hamish. Daddy is sleeping," he whispered, pointing to Sherlock, asleep in the bed.

Hamish nodded and stuck his thumb in his mouth. "I want… sit wif Daddy," he said, wriggling against John's hands holding him in the seat. "Please," he added quietly.

John nodded and carefully lifted him onto the bed, laying him down beside Sherlock. The little boy sighed and curled up beside Sherlock, placing a small hand on his chest.

"Be gentle," John said softly.

Hamish nodded and carefully kissed Sherlock's cheek. "I being gentle."

"How is he?" John asked quietly, sitting beside Mycroft, who sighed.

"He's only woken up once and he's very drowsy. The doctor said it will be a long recovery. How is Hamish?"

John nodded and sighed. "Yeah, he's been okay. He obviously doesn't understand what's happening really. I'm trying to decide if I should take him back to our place or not," he shrugged. "He's okay."

Mycroft sighed. "He's still only so little. I forget. Because he talks so well."

"I forget all the time. I think he's just a very very short little Sherlock all the time and have to remind myself that he's two years old," John chuckled.

"He thinks he's much older than that," Mycroft smiled as Hamish looked at the monitors and tubes around Sherlock.

"John?" Hamish asked quietly, sitting up. "What are these ones for?"

"They're all for different things," John said gently. "This one is giving Daddy medicine so he doesn't hurt. This one is helping Daddy breathe a bit easier. This one is making sure his heart is being strong. And this one is making sure he's got enough oxygen in him," he explained as Hamish nodded.

"Kay," he said softly, carefully putting his card on the nightstand. "When Daddy can come home again?" Hamish asked, sucking his thumb again as he curled back up.

John sighed and bit his lip. "It will be quite a long time before Daddy can come home," he said softly, and Hamish frowned.

"Why? You am a doctor, John. Why you can't fix Daddy?"

"Daddy… his body has to fix itself. And that will take a long time," John said gently.

"But… I not allowed be at Baker Street by my own," he frowned.

John nodded. "I know, mate. Mrs. Hudson will look after you. It's okay. Or, if you like, you can come and stay with me and Mary."

Hamish nodded. "It be a sleepover!" he beamed.

John chuckled. "Well I'm glad you like the sound of that," he smiled as Sherlock stirred, instinctively pulling Hamish a little closer.

"Hi, Daddy," Hamish smiled as Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Oh. Hello, Hamish. Are you okay?"

He nodded and kissed Sherlock's nose. "I fine. You getted shot, Daddy," he said with a small frown. "But it okay. I having a sleepover wif John and Mary," he grinned.

"No!" Sherlock said suddenly, his eyes flying open. "Erm…"

John frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing… It's nothing," he sighed, swallowing and kissing Hamish's forehead. "That will be lots of fun."

* * *

Mycroft left once Sherlock had fallen asleep again, and John and Hamish went to the cafeteria to get lunch. Hamish sighed and held tightly onto John's hand.

"Who shooted my Daddy, John?"

"I don't know, mate," John sighed.

Hamish frowned. "Why not? Uncle Greg am a policeman," he said.

John lifted him up onto his hip. "That doesn't mean he can find things out right away. He needs to investigate it. And he's going to."

Hamish nodded. "But… Daddy got shooted in his front," he said. "He would have seed the baddie. Maybe the baddie haved on a mask," he shrugged.

John kissed his cheek. "I guess that's true. Daddy would have seen them. I wonder why he hasn't told us," he said, frowning slightly.

"Maybe the baddie said it haves to be a secret," Hamish said softly as John sat him at a table and ordered some food.

John nodded. "Maybe he did," he sighed.

"Maybe the baddie is a lady," Hamish said. "The baddie might be a lady," he shrugged, fiddling with the little sugar packets on the table.

John nodded again and reached across the table to ruffle Hamish's hair. "You are the cleverest little boy I've ever met."

Hamish beamed. "I going to help Uncle Greg wif finding the baddie, okay?"

"No no no, mate. You can't do that, it isn't safe, okay? You're just going to stay with me and Mary, yeah?"

He sighed and swung his legs back and forth beneath the table as their food was brought over. "Yay!" he smiled. "Daddy not lets me eat nuggets," he smiled, dipping one in ketchup and taking a big bite.

"It's a… special occasion," John nodded.

Hamish nodded. "You can have a nugget too, kay?" he said, moving one onto John's plate and smiling. "We can go see Daddy 'gain now?"

"No, mate. Eat your lunch, then we can go see him. Uncle Greg is coming to visit him soon too."

Hamish grinned. ''I tell him 'bout my ideas 'bout the baddie," he nodded, and John smiled.

"I'm sure he'll love to hear your ideas, mate. Eat up."

* * *

"Greg? I think the baddie what shooted my Daddy had a mask on," Hamish said happily, trotting along beside John and Lestrade, holding tightly onto John's hand. "Or… Maybe… Greg," he gasped. "Maybe Daddy knowed who shooted him and maybe they telled him it had to be a…" he frowned and stopped walking when they reached Sherlock's room. "Where is my Daddy gone?"

* * *

"Hamish, you just stay down here with Mrs. Hudson," John said gently, setting him on the floor in her living room.

Hamish frowned at him. "But I need to help you and Greg find Daddy," he said, stamping one foot.

"No," John said firmly, lifting him onto Mrs. Hudson's sofa and tucking a blanket around him. "You need to go to sleep. I'll find Daddy. I promise."

* * *

The front door slammed and John and Mary rushed up the stairs, followed closely by Sherlock, limping slightly and leaning heavily on the wall on his way up. Then there was some shouting and something was thrown across the room and that's when Hamish woke up.

He frowned slightly and listened carefully for a few moments before picking out Sherlock's voice and smiling. He wriggled out of the blankets wrapped around him and slid onto the floor, hurrying out of Mrs. Hudson's flat and up the stairs. "Daddy! John finded you!" he beamed, clambering up onto Sherlock's lap. Sherlock winced, grabbing onto the arms of his chair. "Sorry, Daddy," Hamish said softly.

"It's alright," Sherlock said gently. "It's okay." He pulled Hamish close for a moment and sighed. "I need you to go up to your room, okay?"

"No, Daddy," Hamish said, shaking his head. "I have been thinking about who shooted you," he said.

Sherlock sighed. "I know who shot me. It was Mary," he said softly. "We need to have a…"

"What?" Hamish frowned at him and looked at Mary. "No," he shook his head. "Mary am not a baddie," he said firmly, sliding down from Sherlock's lap and onto the floor. "Daddy, you not look very good. Nan says you are meant to be in the hostible," he told him.

"Hamish," Sherlock said evenly. "I need you to go upstairs to your room and get into bed."

"Can… Can you come wif me?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Mrs. Hudson can take you up if you like. I can't quite make it up there. Off you go now. Right now," he said firmly.

Hamish stood still for a few moments before nodding as Mrs. Hudson moved to pick him up.

"No," John said. "I've got him. I can't deal with…" he gestured between Sherlock and Mary. "This." He picked Hamish up and quickly carried him upstairs, gently tucking him into his bed and laying down with him.

"John?" Hamish said quietly. "Mary am not a baddie."

John took a slow breath and cuddled Hamish close. "I don't know. Maybe she is a baddie. I think that maybe I was wrong about her. It was very bad of her to shoot your Daddy."

Hamish nodded. "It was mean of her," he said. "Daddy am sick."

John nodded and gently kissed his forehead. "It's going to be okay. I'll sort him out. I might… Maybe I might move back in here for a while."

"Cause you are cross wif Mary?"

He nodded again. "Yeah. And to help your Dad feel better."

Hamish smiled and nodded. "Daddy is sad when you are at your house wif Mary. He misses you lots."

John smiled. "I miss him too. And I miss you. Daddy and I will sort everything out. Don't you worry," he said as a siren sounded.

"That is a ambliance," Hamish said, standing up to peer out of the little window. "Is it for Daddy?"

John frowned and joined him at the window. "Ah… Yeah, they seem to be stopping. You wait here, okay?"

"No!" Hamish said, jumping down onto the floor and running across the room. "The ambliance is here for my Daddy. I going to help him," he said, opening his door and dashing down the stairs.

"No no no," John said softly, grabbing him around the middle and picking him up as the ambulance officers rushed up the stairs. Sherlock looked over at John and stood up, waving his hand before grabbing onto the back of the armchair to keep himself upright.

"Take Hamish up… upstairs," he said as he collapsed.

John nodded and sighed, holding Hamish tightly so he wouldn't see as the paramedics started with the defibrillator.


	6. Dealing with Sherlock Holmes

"Daddy, I going to stay right here so you can't es-ecscape, kay?" Hamish said firmly, climbing up into the seat beside Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock sighed and winced as he tried to sit up. "I'm not going to escape, Hamish. You don't need to worry."

Hamish frowned at him. "Well, Daddy, you am very naughty 'cause of ecscaping from hostible. Now you am back and I making sure of you won't go again."

"Well, Hamish, you can't stay there all the time, you have to go home with John and Mary and…"

"No, I not going wif John and Mary. John and Mary had a big big fight wif lots of shouting and now John is at Baker Street wif me."

"Right," Sherlock said evenly. "That's probably for the best," he nodded.

"Daddy, are you cross wif Mary for shooting you?" Hamish asked softly.

Sherlock thought for a few moments. "I'm cross with Mary for lying and for hurting John," he said quietly, reaching out to hold Hamish's hand. "If John decides that he's going to forgive Mary for those things then I'll forgive her too."

"Oh," said Hamish. "Well I am a bit cross wif Mary 'bout shooting you. Ahcos… Ahcos you're my Daddy," he said, folding his arms.

"It's alright to feel cross," Sherlock nodded. "You won't need to see her anytime soon anyway," he said gently. "Uncle Mycroft will make sure of that."

Hamish sighed. "Uncle Myc am a bit cross wif Mary too," he explained. "But John is the most cross."

Sherlock nodded and sighed, looking over at John who had busied himself tidying flowers and cards on the shelves by Sherlock's bed. John stopped what he was doing when he felt Sherlock's gaze on him and turned around to face them. "I don't like being lied to," he said simply, sitting down in the other chair. "And she lied and lied and lied. I don't know how she could do that to me." He swallowed and fiddled with his hands.

Sherlock sat quietly for a few moments and sighed. "John… You should try to… see her point of view perhaps."

John frowned at him. "No, I don't think I will. If you'd have… You flatlined on that table, Sherlock. You have a little boy who needs you and if… If something had happened to you. I don't know… I don't know that I can forgive her for that. Don't tell me she was careful because she wasn't. Not as careful as she could have been."

Sherlock sighed and fiddled with his hands. "Perhaps. But if she wanted to kill me she would have shot me in the head, John," he said, and Hamish frowned deeply before starting to cry. "It's alright," Sherlock said gently, reaching out to him as Hamish crawled onto the bed and cuddled close to him. "It's alright. I'm okay. I just need to stay here in the hospital for a little longer, then I'll come home and everything will be back to normal. Alright?"

Hamish stuck his lower lip out and sniffled. "Daddy no more be hurt, please," he said softly.

Sherlock nodded. "I'm going to be okay. I'm getting better," he said softly, wincing when he pulled Hamish closer.

"No," Hamish said softly. "You have lots of owies."

"I just have the one owie actually," he said, chuckling bitterly. "I'm alright. I just need some time to get a bit better."

"Kay, well… I stay here to… stupervide you," he said firmly.

Sherlock chuckled. "You can't stay here and supervise me all the time. You have to go back to Baker Street at nighttime, and I want you to keep going to nursery."

Hamish pouted and fiddled with Sherlock's hospital gown. "You was on the news, Daddy."

Sherlock frowned and looked at John. "Really? What for?"

John smirked. "Janine's been… spreading a few little rumours about you," he said, handing him a newspaper with the headline, ' _Shag-a-lot Holmes_ '.

Sherlock's ears turned pink and he frowned. "This isn't… appropriate for Hamish to be seeing," he said, thrusting the paper back to John.

"He can't read, Sherlock. And anyway… it's funny," John shrugged, biting back a laugh.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you could stop being an imbecile, that would be excellent."

Hamish frowned at him. "Daddy… I know you have a owie, and your medicines make you a bit silly… But… John am being a big big helper."

Sherlock sighed. "I… Hamish… I wasn't being rude…" he began, only to be interrupted by the small boy.

"Yes you was being rude, Daddy," he said firmly. "You say sorry now please."

Sherlock looked at John, then looked back at Hamish. "I'm not apologising for something that didn't happen."

Hamish's frown deepened. "Kay well… No dessert for you."

"Fine," Sherlock snapped, folding his arms with a small wince.

"Fine," Hamish agreed, clumsily folding his arms as well.

* * *

After three days of Sherlock being on complete bed-rest, his surgeon and his blogger both agreed that the most beneficial course of action for everyone's mental health and wellbeing was to get him moving again.

"Oh thank God!" Sherlock shouted when John told him, pushing the blankets back and trying to sit himself up properly. He gasped at the sudden sharp pain in his side, and grabbed a handful of the blanket.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Not so fast. Let me help."

"I don't need help," Sherlock spat, glaring at him. "Where is Hamish?"

John sighed. "He's with Molly."

"Why?"

"Because today is going to be… Not all that much fun."

Sherlock frowned at him. "I don't know what you mean by that. I'm fine."

"Yeah, well. You're not, and you're an appalling patient," he said, carefully helping Sherlock sit up.

"I said I don't need your help," Sherlock sighed, sitting up the rest of the way and holding onto his side. "Can I go for a walk?"

John sighed and held his face in his hands for a moment. "Sherlock. We were hoping today to get you out of the bed. Maybe sit in the chair for a while. You shouldn't be walking just yet."

Sherlock looked at him for a few moments before sighing and giving a small nod. "Alright. I… I'll take it slowly. It just… I want to go home," he said quietly, clearing his throat. "I have… other people watching my child… all of the time, and it's… I want to go home."

"I'm sorry," John said softly.

"What for?" Sherlock snapped.

John cleared his throat. "For marrying her. For putting you in danger like that, for putting Hamish anywhere near her… If I'd known that this was going to happen, I never would have… God. This is a mess."

"John," he said softly. "She's… carrying your child."

"Yeah, I bloody know that," John snapped.

"Well…" Sherlock frowned. "You're going to need to make a decision."

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Hamish is my child… Just as much as the child she's carrying. And I know that… That you won't want him near her now, so…"

Sherlock frowned. "No, you… Mary wouldn't ever do anything to hurt Hamish. I'm sure of it."

John gaped at him for a few moments. "Sherlock, are you… Look, right now, I don't want her anywhere near him. I mean, I don't want her anywhere near my child either but I don't really have a choice there. Once you're… off the morphine and… back at Baker Street, then we'll talk about it. But right now, let's just get you better, yeah?"

Sherlock sighed and fiddled with his IV. "Alright," he nodded. "If I get out of bed and sit in that chair for a while, can you bring Hamish around later?"

John sighed. "If you get out of bed and sit there without complaining too much then yes, I'll bring him around later."

Sherlock nodded and grabbed the rail on the side of the bed, very slowly hoisting himself up and waving John away when he moved to help him.

* * *

"Molly, my Daddy am very naughty for ecscaping from hostible," Hamish told her seriously from where she'd sat him on the kitchen counter. Baby Amelia was in her highchair, shouting to match Hamish's tone, and waving her arms wildly.

Molly chuckled as she cut an apple up for him to eat. "He can be very silly sometimes, your Daddy."

"Oh, I know," he said dramatically. "Daddy even thinks that colouring is boring."

"Oh dear," Molly laughed, handing him his plate. "Well you can do all the colouring you want at my house."

"Good," Hamish nodded, munching on a slice of apple. "Molly?" He eventually said, fiddling with his hands.

"Yes, love, what's up?"

"Is Mary a baddie for shooting my Daddy?" Hamish asked quietly, looking up at her.

Molly sighed and pulled him into her arms. "I think it's very tricky," she said, once she'd thought about it for a while. "It definitely wasn't a good thing to shoot your Daddy. But Mary loves you and she loves your Daddy too, so she must have thought it was her only choice."

"But why Mary shooted Daddy if she loves him?" He asked, rubbing his nose.

"I don't know, Hame. It's very hard to understand," Molly said softly, kissing the top of his head and holding him close.

"Maybe when John and Mary am not fighting any more, I can ask her," Hamish decided. "We can watch a movie now, please?"

* * *

"Sherlock, I swear to God if you complain about one more single thing, Hamish and I are moving to France."

"Well it's hardly my fault I'm stuck here and you won't let me do anything!" Sherlock yelled, doing his best to strop dramatically without moving too much and upsetting his stitches. He was still sitting in the seat he'd managed to move into, tapping away at his laptop in a huff. "I only want to go to the lab. Otherwise I can't solve this case."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Sherlock. Greg sent you those cases to keep you from driving me up the wall. They're all cold. It's just like when Hamish is sick and we give him colouring to do."

"I beg your pardon! I am not two years old!" Sherlock shouted, slamming his laptop shut and throwing it on the bed.

John breathed deeply for a few moments. "I didn't mean that. I'd be bored too if I was stuck in here. I just mean…" he picked up the nearest case file. "I just mean, this case is from 1952. It's hardly pressing."

"They're all pressing until they're solved," Sherlock snapped, crossing his arms and looking out the window. "When is Hamish coming?"

"I haven't texted Molly yet, you were being too grumpy. It stresses Hamish out."

Sherlock scoffed. "No it doesn't. He's plenty grumpy himself anyway."

John rolled his eyes. "He's not grumpy, he's two. You can't go down to the labs because you're still on too many monitors to leave this room. End of story."

"Why can't you go to Baker Street and bring my microscope here?"

"Because I'm not your bloody slave, Sherlock!" John yelled, and a nurse paused on her way past the room.

"Everything okay in here, boys?" She asked gently.

Sherlock huffed some more and John gave her a small nod as she left again.

"Why are you staying here if I'm so infuriating? Why don't you just piss off and fuss over somebody else?" Sherlock grumbled, not looking away from the window.

John gritted his teeth. "Because… You know, I don't even know. I guess I'm just an idiot am I?"

"I do," Sherlock said. "It's because you can't bear to go back to your house and have to speak to your wife, and you don't want to go back to Baker Street because then you'd have to deal with Hamish. You may have forgotten, but he is actually your son as well," Sherlock snapped.

John stared at him for a moment before getting up and clenching his fists at his sides. "Why does everyone I know think it's perfectly okay to treat me like shit?"

Sherlock smirked. "That's really a bit of an exaggeration, John. Hamish is very nice to you."

"You know what I mean, Sherlock. I sit here with you every day to keep you company, but you just can't help yourself, can you? Sometimes I don't know why I bother with you."

That wiped the smile from Sherlock's face quite quickly. He kept quiet for a moment before fiddling with his hands. "I don't mean to," he said quietly. "Pushing people away is a… a reflex. I can't just turn it off."

"Try to," John snapped before turning on his heel and leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a slam.

* * *

"Hello, John!" Hamish beamed, pulling Molly's front door open and bouncing up and down. "We go and see my Daddy now," he announced, grabbing John's hand.

John sighed and picked Hamish up while he wriggled. "Daddy's not up to having visitors right now, little man. But we'll go home, okay? Thanks for having him again, Molly," he said, giving her a wave and hailing a cab.

Hamish frowned. "But… I did him a picture, John," he said, trying to get to his backpack. "Please we can see him? I be quiet and good," he said very seriously.

John climbed into the cab and buckled Hamish in. "We… Look, okay. I'll drop you at his room and you can have some time with him, okay?"

"Did you have a fight?" Hamish asked as the cab pulled out into the traffic.

John sighed. "Sort of. I just need a bit of a break from your Dad right now, okay?"

Hamish bit his lip and nodded. "Okay, John," he said quietly, turning to look out the window.


	7. Recuperation

John dropped Hamish at the door to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was back in his bed, glaring at Mycroft who stood by the window leaning on his umbrella.

"Ah, good," Mycroft said when he saw John. "As you know, Dr. Watson, my brother shouldn't be left unsupervised. And I really am very busy myself."

John rolled his eyes as Hamish ran over to the bed and clambered up onto it, cuddling close to Sherlock. "Yeah, well. I'm not his babysitter. Why don't you pay someone to do it or something? I'll be back in an hour to get Hamish," he said as he left.

"Daddy and John had a fight," Hamish explained before pulling his backpack off and rummaging around until he found his drawing. He held it up so Sherlock could see. "Do you like it, Daddy? It is you and me at the park. This is a duck," he explained, pointing to the picture.

Sherlock finally looked away from the empty doorway and smiled at Hamish. "It's a very nice drawing, Hamish."

Mycroft sighed dramatically. "Sherlock, I really must be going. Can you… manage?" He asked, gesturing at Hamish.

"Of course I can manage," Sherlock snapped. "And I'll be quite happy for you to leave."

"Daddy, that is a bit rude," Hamish told him, gently patting his shoulder. "Bye bye, Uncle Myc," he said as Mycroft swanned out of the room. "What did John and you fight about, Daddy?"

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose I wasn't very nice to him. But he does make it a bit difficult," he huffed, staring at the wall.

"John am just cross about Mary," Hamish explained patiently. "Did you shout?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I was just a bit snippy. I don't see what he's got to be cross about. I'm the one stuck in this bloody place. They won't even let me walk," he said petulantly, folding his arms and huffing.

"Daddy, bloody is a swear word," Hamish sighed. "John am trying to help. And he am already fighting wif Mary, I don't really think he haves time to fight with you too, Daddy," he said, rummaging around in his backpack again and pulling out a colouring book and some crayons. "I bringed these for you, Daddy. You can borrow them, okay?"

Sherlock managed a small smile. "To keep me busy hmm?" Hamish nodded. "Thank you, Hamish, that was very thoughtful. Were you good for Molly today?" he asked as Hamish picked a picture for them to colour and handed Sherlock some crayons.

Hamish nodded. "Yeah. I was a big helper with Baby Amelia. She is a very shouty baby."

"Well you're quite a shouty little boy. Molly probably has a headache now."

"Hey!" Hamish frowned. "I am a big boy!"

"Sorry, love," Sherlock smiled, pressing a kiss onto the top of his head. "I forget sometimes."

Hamish shrugged. "It's okay, Daddy. Are you going to say sorry to John?" he asked softly.

Sherlock nodded and sighed. "When John comes back, I will say sorry to him. I'm glad I've got you. Sometimes I can't remember what the right thing to do is."

Hamish beamed. "That is why I am right here, Daddy."

* * *

"Mr. Holmes. We'd like to see if you can take a bit of a walk down the hallway," the physiotherapist said as she came into the room.

"Excellent!" Sherlock grinned, whipping the bedcovers back and scattering loose crayons around the room.

Hamish gave him a dubious look and slipped down onto the floor. "Be careful, Daddy," he said softly, clasping his hands together.

The physiotherapist brought a walker in and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am not an invalid."

"No, sir, but you are quite badly injured and we don't want to make it worse. Now the first step is going to be getting you upright," she said as John came to the door.

"Ah, John!" Sherlock smiled before looking at the physiotherapist. "Please come back later. We're busy at the moment," he said abruptly, Hamish sighing and rolling his eyes as she scurried away.

John huffed a bit as he came inside. "Look, Sherlock…"

"I want to apologise, John," Sherlock said. "As you know, I don't really have very many… relationships. I never have had. I don't know how they're supposed to work. You're my best and only friend and I appreciate the work you've put in over the last little while."

"Ah…" John said. "Right. No worries, Sherlock. I'm… sorry too. I guess I'm just… stressed."

Sherlock nodded, and John cleared his throat, and Hamish smiled. "Good! Now, Daddy, say sorry to that nice doctor lady. You were very rude."

* * *

By the time visiting hours finished that afternoon, Sherlock had taken two short walks up and down the hallway, and Hamish had made friends with every single doctor, nurse, and therapist on the ward.

"Gentlemen?" a nurse said, sticking her head into the room. "Visiting hours are really over now. I'll have to ask you to leave," she said as Hamish frowned deeply.

"I don't think you ud-understand," he said seriously. "This am my Daddy."

"I know, darling. And you can come back and visit him tomorrow. But right now, he needs to go to sleep."

"Come on, buddy," John said gently, picking him up and holding him close. "Say bye to Daddy. We'll be back tomorrow."

"No!" Hamish yelled, kicking his feet and trying to wriggle out of John's arms.

"Hamish, you need to calm down," Sherlock said, wincing as he tried to get out of bed while Hamish flailed around.

"No!" Hamish shrieked. "I not come down! I want ah 'tay wif Daddy!"

John sighed and gently passed Hamish to Sherlock. The small boy instantly settled, holding tightly onto Sherlock's hospital gown. "Listen to me, Hamish," Sherlock said softly, gently pushing his hair back from his face. "You need to go home with John. You're going to have dinner, and a bath and then bedtime. And then tomorrow morning you can come and see me again. I need to go to sleep now too," he said gently.

Hamish pouted dramatically and rubbed his eyes. "I need ah look after you, Daddy."

"The nurses here are going to look after me, love. You're not really a medical professional. I'll see you in the morning though. You be very good for John, okay?"

The small boy sighed and glared at the floor for a moment. "Kay, Daddy. Don't do anyfing silly, okay?"

Sherlock chuckled. "What sort of silly thing would I be doing?"

Hamish rolled his eyes. "Maybe ec-scaping. That was very silly."

"That was very silly," Sherlock agreed. "I promise I won't escape, alright?"

"Alright," Hamish nodded, kissing his cheek and letting John pick him up. "See you in ah morning."

"See you in the morning, son."

* * *

"John, this is not the way home," Hamish frowned as he watched out the window of the cab.

"I know, mate. We're going to my house quickly to get some things, okay?"

Hamish thought for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Mary there?"

John shook his head and sighed. "Mary's out, okay?"

"Okay," Hamish sighed, continuing to stare out the window until they pulled up in front of the Watson's house. John asked the cabbie to wait, and picked Hamish up, quickly heading inside and up the stairs.

He grabbed a couple of large bags from the bedroom and started packing clothes, toiletries and books inside.

Hamish sat quietly for a few minutes while John packed before eventually speaking up. "Are you moving back to my house?"

John sighed. "I think so. Maybe. Just for a little while, at least. Is that okay?"

Hamish grinned and nodded. "Yeah! We miss you at 221B Baker Street, John."

* * *

John trudged up the stairs to 221B while Hamish ran up ahead of him, humming all the way.

"Hello, flat!" he shouted when he got up to the landing, jumping up and down a little. "John am staying! Just for a bit," he explained to the living room. "John, I will light the fire."

"No no no. You absolutely will not," John said firmly, dumping his bags on the landing and starting to rifle through the fridge for food. "What do you want for dinner?" he shouted, sticking his head out of the kitchen.

"Um. I want it to be warm," Hamish said as if he were a moron, gesturing wildly at the fireplace.

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay okay. Hop out of the way and I'll light the fire."

After a dinner of microwaved chicken nuggets and peas, John bundled Hamish into the bath, quickly scrubbing him clean while the small boy talked his ear off about marine biology, trains, and Fireman Sam.

Once Hamish was about as clean as a small boy ever was, John pulled him from the bath and wrapped him tightly in a towel, carrying him up to his bedroom and helping him into pyjamas. "Can you stay forever, John?" Hamish asked softly as the doctor pulled his dinosaur pyjamas on and set about tucking him into bed.

John sighed and gently kissed his forehead, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "I don't know if I can stay forever. I might have to go and live with Mary again in a while."

"Because of your baby?" Hamish asked.

"How do you know about that? Did your Dad tell you?"

Hamish nodded and beamed. "He said I will be the baby's big brother. Is that right?" he asked.

John smiled. "I guess it is. You'll be an excellent big brother. But the baby might mean I go back and live with Mary. I'm not sure yet. For right now, I'm going to live here, okay?"

Hamish sighed. "Kay, John."

* * *

When John and Hamish arrived at the hospital the next morning, Sherlock was busy abusing the physiotherapist again as she tried to get him out of bed.

John rolled his eyes as he pushed the door open and Sherlock yelled at the poor woman for being "completely incompetent". Hamish sighed.

"Sorry 'bout my Daddy," he said to her. "Him is just grumpy." He clambered up onto the bed and poked Sherlock. "Don't be so rude."

"I wasn't being rude," Sherlock snapped.

"I might come back a bit later," the physiotherapist quickly decided before hurrying into the hallway.

"What is your problem?" John asked, sitting down beside the bed.

Sherlock huffed. "My brother has been here irritating me all morning."

"Oh great!" Hamish grinned. "Where am Uncle Myc now?"

Sherlock huffed even more dramatically. "He's getting coffee. It really isn't that exciting to see him, Hamish."

"Yes it is! I love Uncle Myc," he said cheerfully, kicking his feet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms as John did his very best not to laugh. "Did Hamish behave last night?"

John nodded and smiled. "He was really excellent. I think he was pretty exhausted."

"And John am coming back to Baker Street!" Hamish yelled.

"Is that so?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Probably just for a little while. I don't know what I'm going to do about… the baby and everything. But for the moment, while you're getting better and everything, yeah."

Sherlock nodded. "Good, that's… good."

* * *

"Mr. Holmes, you live on the second floor. I can't discharge you until you can walk up and down the stairs," the poor, long-suffering physiotherapist said as Sherlock huffed in a wheelchair. They'd been practicing on a small set of three stairs, and Sherlock could get up and down without too much pain. But the idea of climbing an entire staircase was a little too much for him.

"I don't need to be able to walk up and down the stairs. I only need to get up once and then I can stay up there until I'm back to normal," Sherlock huffed.

"But, Daddy," Hamish said seriously. "What about the park?"

"What about the park?" Sherlock snapped, and Hamish pouted.

"What if… what if we go to the park? How you will come if… if you are stuck up-upstairs?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I just won't go to the park."

Hamish's frown deepened. "But… but I love the park, Daddy."

Sherlock sighed melodramatically and rolled his eyes before slowly pushing himself out of the wheelchair. "Fine! If it will shut everybody up and get me out of this ridiculous institution," he said, slowly making his way over to the staircase. He held tightly onto the railing, and Hamish held his other hand.

"I help you, Daddy."

"Thank you, Mish. That's an excellent help."


	8. Release

Sherlock's release date came as a relief to everyone. John was beyond sick of traipsing Hamish down to the hospital every single day and sitting in a hard plastic chair while Sherlock complained. Sherlock was sick of being forced to eat hospital food and having various combinations of his parents and his brother visiting. Hamish was sick of John not letting him eat cupcakes for breakfast.

John could also see the relief in the faces of the nurses and doctors on Sherlock's ward as he and Hamish walked down the halls again, Hamish proudly holding a card he'd made for Sherlock. It would be joining the seventeen other cards he'd made his father during his hospital stay.

Sherlock smiled when he spotted them through the open door to his room. He was sitting in a chair having his IV removed.

"You be careful with that needle, lady," Hamish said firmly to the nurse.

"Don't you worry about that, love. I've done this lots and lots of times," she said kindly. "Are you excited for Daddy to come home?"

Hamish nodded enthusiastically. "John is nice. But he doesn't know about bedtime songs," he said very seriously, and John bit back a laugh and started to tidy the room up.

"Let's help Daddy get his things together. Then we can go downstairs."

"Uncle Myc am sending a car," Hamish added.

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes. Hamish frowned at him.

"It is nice of Uncle Myc," he said, taking Sherlock's hand. "I maked you a new card," he said as John pulled the other cards down from a shelf where they'd been displaying them. "It has a cat," Hamish pointed out, holding the card up to Sherlock's face.

Sherlock squinted at the orange scribble on the card. "That's a cat is it?"

"Uh-huh," Hamish nodded. "See? It has a tail," he said, pointing to a squiggle poking away from the rest of the drawing.

"It's an excellent cat," Sherlock decided as John helped him stand up. "I'm quite fine. I don't need help."

John closed his eyes in frustration for a short moment before nodding and stepping aside. Sherlock took Hamish's hand and led him from the hospital. John followed them with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Hamish chatted animatedly as they walked slowly down the corridors, Sherlock trying to hide his discomfort from both Hamish and John.

"John cleaned up your 'speriments, Daddy," Hamish said as they reached the ground floor and started to walk out to where a black car with dark tinted windows sat waiting for them.

"He what?" Sherlock snapped, glaring at John.

John rolled his eyes. "I… The deal was, you don't have that stuff out in the flat."

"Maybe it was when you lived there, and when we were both parenting him. But I don't think that's the case anymore," Sherlock snapped.

"Who do you think has been looking after him for bloody weeks while you've been in here?" John said, starting to raise his voice.

"Oh dear. Not more fighting," Hamish said. "Daddy, John lives at our house again now. He even bringed all of his jumpers."

Sherlock blinked at them both for a moment.

"I just couldn't stay with… I needed some time. Hamish needed looking after anyway. It made sense to bring my clothes and that back over. But, Hame, I told you I might not be able to stay for a long time, remember?"

Hamish nodded. "I 'member. Cause of the little baby that will be mine."

"Well… it will be your brother or sister… sort of. It won't really be your baby though. It will be… I suppose it will be mine and Mary's baby," John said.

Hamish scrunched his face up. "But you am not talking to Mary right now, John."

John sighed. "Well, no. Not right now. I just need some time to think about things."

"Well, it's good we am going back to 221B," Hamish said seriously as the driver got out of the car and opened the back door and John started to wrestle Hamish into his carseat. "It is very good there for thinking about things."

Sherlock sat relatively quietly as they drove home. He tried to follow Hamish's incessant chattering, but the buckets of pain medication he was on was making it difficult. By the time the car pulled up outside 221B, he'd fallen asleep, his head resting on the window.

Hamish kicked his feet wildly as John unbuckled him from the carseat and gently shook Sherlock by the shoulder. "Sherlock? We're home, mate," he said as Sherlock blinked sleepily at him.

"Come on, Daddy!" Hamish shouted as John deposited him on the footpath. He jumped up and down and grabbed Sherlock's hand once John had helped him out of the car. Hamish filled Sherlock in on all of Mrs. Hudson's gossip, as they slowly made their way up the stairs.

Sherlock made a beeline for his bedroom, Hamish following close behind. "Um… How I can help, Daddy?" he asked as Sherlock lowered himself into bed.

"Er…" Sherlock said. "You can help by having a nice nap with me."

Hamish wrinkled his nose. "I not tired. I just stupervise you," he decided, clambering up onto the bed beside him.

"That's fine, just don't wake me up," Sherlock grumbled, tossing and turning until he found a position that didn't aggravate his injuries. Eventually, he curled up and closed his eyes.

Hamish lay down beside him and gently took hold of Sherlock's hand. "I'm right here, Daddy," he said quietly.

Sherlock smiled and gently squeezed his little hand. "Goodnight, Hamish."

Within minutes, both Sherlock and Hamish were asleep, the small boy bundled up in Sherlock's arms, both of them snoring softly.

By the time he'd been home for a week, Sherlock had just about stopped complaining that John had destroyed months of work by safely disposing of his toxic and/or corrosive experiments. Hamish had been convinced to return to nursery school, but cried each morning when Sherlock told him he wasn't well enough to drop him off. John had settled easily back into life at 221B and found himself wondering how he'd managed to stay sane without the chaos of the Baker Street flat.

"What's on this?" Hamish demanded one afternoon, a peanut butter sandwich in one hand, and the silver AGRA memory stick in the other. He waved the memory stick at Sherlock, who was sitting at his microscope, pretending he couldn't hear him, and then at John, who'd just walked in from work.

"Um…" said John, putting his bag down at the door and kicking the leg of Sherlock's chair to get his attention.

The detective looked up at frowned, reaching for the memory stick. "That's nothing, Hamish. It's just mine."

"I will look at it!" Hamish said firmly, holding the stick to his chest as he made his way over to Sherlock's laptop.

"No, you don't need to look at it," Sherlock said as Hamish expertly stuck the memory stick into the side of his laptop and climbed up onto a chair so he could look at the screen.

"Hamish," John sighed, gently lifting him out of the chair. "You can't just look at whatever you like. You need to ask first. There might be something unsuitable on there."

Hamish nodded. "It's okay. Daddy has a stick with dead pictures on it."

John blinked at him. "He what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and carefully got up from the table. "He accidentally found it. It was case files. And I told him he needs to ask."

"Well what is on that one?" Hamish asked, pointing to the memory stick.

"It's just more dead pictures," Sherlock said quickly. "For my work. You don't want to look at it."

Hamish looked at him dubiously before wriggling to be put down. "Fine," he said once John had put him back on the ground. "But _you_ said no secrets," he snapped, pointing a chubby, accusatory finger at Sherlock.

"Yes well that rule doesn't really apply to adults. Don't you have to be at nursery or something?" Sherlock said, waving a hand at him.

"Don't be a idiot, Daddy. It is night time," he said, waving wildly at the window so Sherlock would see it was dark outside.

Once Hamish was in bed, John settled into his old armchair with a book and a scotch. Sherlock sat opposite him in his own armchair, flicking through some case notes Lestrade had sent over.

"Did he go to sleep?" Sherlock asked, without looking up at John.

"Not just yet, he wanted to look at a book. He'll fall asleep reading it, he always does," John said, putting his book down when he noticed Sherlock had placed the memory stick on his side table. "Do you have to be so… theatrical?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked up at him. "I don't know what you mean," he said, looking back at his notes. "But you do need to make a decision. I need to know what to tell Hamish. He's become used to you living here now. I need to, you know, prepare him if you'll be leaving again."

John sighed heavily and took a sip of his drink. "I like living here," he said. "But… especially with the baby coming… I'm going to have to go back to Mary."

Sherlock nodded and shrugged. "Fine. You can tell Hamish tomorrow. I imagine he'll be upset."

"Why do I have to tell him?"

"Why shouldn't you? It's your decision, it's nothing to do with me. And you do keep insisting that he's your son as well."

John gritted his teeth and tried not to slam his glass back onto the table. "He is my son."

"I understand that it's an unusual arrangement," Sherlock said calmly. "But I would appreciate if you took a little responsibility for him."

John blinked at him. "A… A little responsibility? I've been looking after him for a month, Sherlock. Day and night. While you haven't been here."

"And remind me why I wasn't here," Sherlock said darkly, glaring at him. "It was hardly by choice."

John sat quietly, taking a sip of his drink and sighing. "Sherlock… How did you not know?" he eventually asked.

Sherlock paused. "About Mary?"

John nodded and looked up at him.

Sherlock frowned and cleared his throat. "She hid it well. When I think back… the evidence was there, however… I suppose sentiment got in the way."

John furrowed his brows. "Sentiment? For her?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and shrugged. "You were happy, John, and Hamish liked her. I liked her. She liked me. It all seemed… good," he said, after searching for the words for a few moments. "I was distracted. It was a lapse in judgement. I'm sorry."

"No, I didn't…" John sighed and put his glass down. "I wasn't trying to say it was your fault. I just meant… you usually don't miss things like that."

"As I said, she hid it well," Sherlock said. "Thank you for taking care of Hamish."

"I've really enjoyed it," John said. "Being back here, I mean. With him. And now that you're home it almost feels like everything's how it used to be."

Sherlock nodded. "But I understand that you can't stay. Hamish will too. He just needs to be told," he said quietly.

"Why are we going to An-An-Angelo's?" Hamish asked, hurrying along beside Sherlock and John, his little hand clasped in Sherlock's.

"To have a nice dinner," Sherlock told him, slowing down slightly when he saw how fast Hamish was having to walk to keep up with his long strides.

"I'm a bit tired," Hamish said when they stopped at a pedestrian crossing.

Sherlock gave him a fond smile and started to lean over to pick him up, gasping and wincing when it put pressure on his still-healing chest. He clasped his side and took a deep breath. "John, could you please… carry him the rest of the way?" he said, gritting his teeth.

John nodded and carefully picked Hamish up, holding him close. "It's going to be okay," he said to Sherlock as they crossed the road and made their way into Angelo's.

They sat in their usual table by the window and Angelo came over to light a candle and fuss over Hamish. Once the small boy was settled with some colouring in, John reached over the table for his little hand. "Hamish? I need to talk to you about something."

Hamish looked up at him and sighed. "You are going back to your house wif Mary?" he asked softly, putting his crayon down.

John sighed and nodded. "Soon, yeah. Once Daddy's all better so he can look after you on his own," he said.

Hamish sniffled and rubbed at his eyes. "Kay," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, little man," John said, gently pulling him into his lap and cuddling him close for a moment. "I wish it wasn't all so tricky."

Hamish rested his head on John's chest, but kept quiet as John held him.

"I'll visit lots, okay? I promise. It's not going to be like before, when you didn't see me all the time. Okay?"

"Okay," Hamish said with a small nod, sticking his thumb in his mouth. "Is Mary our friend again?" he asked.

John bit his lip. "I'm not sure yet, mate. I'll let you know, okay?"

"Okay. I will miss you, John," he said quietly.

"Yeah," John said. "I'll miss you too, little guy."


End file.
